


Before The Patch

by Kayim



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayim/pseuds/Kayim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1994, when 14-year-old Opie breaks his news to his best friend, Jax takes it upon himself to save them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before The Patch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissMeggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMeggie/gifts).



Jax was on the roof of the clubhouse with a stolen cigarette and a warm bottle of beer. He preferred to be there, on top of the club, to being anywhere else in the world. He felt like he could see the whole world from there, king of all he surveyed. He saw his own bike - stupid, worthless kid's BMX - resting along the fence next to the beautiful motorbikes that he lusted after. He watched as his mom left the office to head into the main part of the garage, flicking her hair over her shoulder and grinning at Clay like she was his old woman or something.

He spat over the edge onto the ground. His dad had been in the fucking ground for less than a year and she was already sniffing around the new President like a bitch in heat.

"Jackson." He turned around and saw Opie's familiar mass of curly hair appear through the hatch. He had a four-pack of cheap beer tucked under his arm - no doubt stolen from his dad - and an expression on his face that worried Jax more than the sight of his wayward mother had done.

Jax took a deep inhale of the cigarette as Opie dropped down next to him.

"She's fucking taking me away," Opie growled as he ripped open the top of one of the cans, swallowing enough to make him belch. "Next week. She's decided that the club is a bad influence on me."

Opie's mom had been threatening to leave Piney and take Opie to her mother's place for weeks. The boys had assumed it was all talk - why the hell would anyone want to leave Charming? They both knew what Mary actually meant - that Jax was a bad influence on Opie. And Jax also knew that Mary was probably right. But there was no way he was letting Opie leave.

"You can stay with us," he suggested, not sure how he'd break the news to his own mom that Opie was coming to live with them, but he'd find a way. "Piney won't let you go anywhere."

Opie huffed. "The old man's already agreed with her. Fucking rolled right over and let her do whatever the hell she wants."

"Shit."

The two of them sat in silence. They watched as Clay and Bobby closed down the garage for the night, the sun setting in the distance, Gemma joining them in the club for a drink. 

It was Jax who finally spoke, his voice determined, his eyes wide. "We need to get away from here," he said, standing up, foot kicking the empty beer bottle. "Now."

Opie looked up at him, one eyebrow raised in question.

Jax nodded. "We're leaving Charming."

Swiping a few bucks had never been much of a challenge to either of the boys. Getting hold of enough to keep them on the run for long enough to make Mary change her mind would be a little harder.

A few dollars from the pocket of one of the new Prospects, asleep with his head in the crotch of one of the Crow-eaters. A double handful of loose change from behind the bar. Two twenty dollar bills from Gemma's purse that she'd left in the office.

"It's not enough." Opie looked around the room the boys had long ago appropriated as their own. There was nothing of any value there; some posters torn from rock magazines, a two year-old calendar that they kept turned to October thanks to the topless twins featured that month, their leathers which were already so worn out that they wouldn't be worth anything to anyone, and some old fading photographs of their dads together in the war.

Jax cracked his knuckles and looked down at his hands. "I have these," he said, sliding the heavy rings from his fingers. His dad had left them to him, the word 'Sons' split across the two rings, and they were the only thing of JT's that were truly Jax's. But they were silver and probably worth a decent amount.

Opie shook his head, reaching out to grip Jax's hands between his own. "No way in hell. I'll go on the streets and blow a stranger before I let you sell those, brother."

"You wouldn't even know how to get someone hard," Jax joked, turning his hand over to twist his fingers into Opie's. He gave a gentle squeeze before pulling his hands free. "But we're going to need some more cash."

Opie shook his head. "We can't do this," he said, turning around and walking towards the door. "We'll end up dead in a ditch before we even get twenty miles."

"Don't you talk like that," Jax snapped at him. The thought of losing his best friend - either from Mary's inane ploy to separate them, or to the alternate scenario that Opie mentioned - terrified him. With his dad gone, Jax had no one else in the world that mattered to him more than Opie. And he wasn't going to give him up without a fight. 

Suddenly an idea formed in his mind and his momentary anger dissipated. He smiled at Opie.

"I've got an idea."

*

"This has got to be your worst idea ever."

Opie had to shout to make himself heard as the two of them sped down the highway. The motorbike belonged to one of the Prospects and while Opie had been hesitant about taking it, Jax justified it by saying that if a Prospect couldn't keep his bike locked up or in his sight, he was asking for it to be stolen.

"You're just jealous that I'm the one driving," Jax turned his head to look at Opie behind him. His friend's arms were wrapped around him, clinging on as though he was about to fall to his death. Which, at the speeds Jax was travelling, was a definite possibility.

"No," Opie corrected, gingerly letting go of Jax with one hand so he could push his hair out of his face. "I'm just pretty sure we're going to get into a wreck and die. Or arrested."

Even with the wind whipping past them and the roar of the bike, Jax could hear the laughter in Opie's voice.

They had as much food as they could throw into a single backpack, just over a hundred dollars in cash, and a motorbike that they had stolen, but they were together. And no one was going to be able to split them up again.

As they approached a truck stop, Jax turned around to Opie. "Gotta take a leak," he explained as he pulled in. He parked as far away from the big rigs as possible, not wanting to take the chance of the bike being hit by one of them. There were two buildings – one greasy looking cafe that boasted of selling the 'greatest pie in the State', and a smaller gas station with a public restroom attached. Neither looked particularly appealing to the boys, but they had little choice.

"I'll grab us some snacks," Opie offered, stretching his back as he climbed off the bike. His arms and legs were aching more than he'd ever felt before, and he didn't even want to think about the pain in his backside. 

Jax rummaged around in his backpack for the fast-dwindling roll of cash they had. He handed it over to Opie with a grin before sliding the bag back over his shoulder. "Get me something good and I might let you drive for a bit."

"Let me drive and I'll get you something good."

Jax laughed. "You're on."

The restroom was even less appealing on the inside than it had been from the outside. The smell alone was enough to make Jax's eyes water, and the stains around the cracked porcelain reminded him of the underside of the cars that they repaired at TM - not something he particularly wanted to touch with his bare hands.

He pissed as fast as he could, giving his hands the barest rinse under the icy cold water, and headed back outside. Rubbing his hands on his jeans to dry them, he walked back towards the bike. He glanced towards the cafe, his stomach starting to rumble, and saw Opie coming towards him, arms filled with snacks.

Jax's smile turned into a worried frown as he noticed the two guys following his friend. Opie wasn't a small guy, but he was only a few months older than Jax, and his two new shadows were old – in their twenties or thirties at least. They took longer strides than Opie, until they caught up and were flanking him one on each side. Jax realised what was happening less than a split second before Opie did.

As Jax watched, the men crowded into Opie. He saw Opie's eyes widen and dart down to his side, where one of the guys – the taller one with the long greasy hair – had a knife pressed against him. They herded him around the back of the cafe, close enough that Opie couldn't have run even if his pride would have let him. 

"Fuck." Jax slipped the backpack off his back and reached inside. There was one other item he hadn't told Opie about. The gun was warm and perfect in his hand, as though it had been made especially for him. He curled his fingers around the grip momentarily, before tucking it down the back of his pants. He left the backpack on the ground next to the bike – there was nothing else in there that was important enough to worry about right now – and took a deep breath before following Opie and the two guys around the building.

As he turned the corner, he saw Opie with his back to the wall, his hands up in front of him, ready for a fight that he had no chance of winning. Greasy-hair held a knife pointed at him, while the other, shorter and covered in tattoos that looked like they were done in a prison, was moving closer and closer. 

"You can either give me the money," Greasy-hair said, his leer sending waves of repulsion down Jax's spine. "Or we can come and take it."

Opie kept his head up, his eyes not moving from the knife. "Not happening," he said firmly, and only Jax could hear the panic in his voice. 

Jax pulled the gun from his waistband and held it out in front of him, like he'd seen so many of the other Sons doing, keeping it anchored on the guy closest to Opie. "Get the fuck away from him," he said, not shouting, but putting every ounce of anger and frustration that he had into his voice. 

Tattoo-guy turned towards him. "What do we have here, pretty boy? Bit too young to be playing with Daddy's gun, aren't you?"

"My Dad's dead," Jax spat, the words causing the same pain in his chest as they always had done. "Which is what you'll be if you don't walk away right now."

From the corner of his eye, Jax saw Opie shaking his head. He turned his head and smiled at his best friend. "I got this," he said.

As he spoke, Tattoo-guy lunged towards him. Without thinking, Jax spun, the gun in his hand, and pulled the trigger. 

"You fucking little...." Greasy-hair's words were cut off as Opie kicked out, his long legs connecting with the guy's crotch. The sound of the knife clattering on the floor was almost as loud as the gun shot itself – at least in Jax's mind.

With one guy bleeding all over the ground, and the other guy doubled up in agony against the wall, Opie and Jax ran.

They were on the bike and out of the truck stop less than thirty seconds later.

They rode in silence for a few miles, Jax only pulling over when Opie gripped his shoulder and nodded towards the side of the road. The road was empty – they hadn't passed another vehicle since leaving the truck stop – so Jax slowed down and stopped the bike.

Opie climbed off, walked a few yards away, and dropped to his knees.

Jax stood, helpless for a moment, unsure what to do. He'd never seen Opie look so broken, so scared. Not when he had a knife aimed at his gut, not when he'd told Jax he might have to move away. 

"I'm sorry," Jax said, walking slowly towards his friend. Opie had his knees pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them, and his head down. Jax wondered if he was even listening. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Opie lifted his head. "I think you just killed him."

A small laugh escaped Jax's mouth before he could stop it. "Shit, Ope. I'm pretty damn sure I did."

He crouched down next to Opie and put a hand on his shoulder, feeling Opie's ragged breathing calming down just from the touch. "If I didn't, they'd have cut you open. How was I supposed to stand by and watch that happen?"

"You had a gun."

"Stole it from Clay," he explained, painfully aware of the icy cold metal that still lay against his bare back. He tried to feel guilty – for the shooting, for the theft of the weapon, for taking another person's life – but he couldn't. All he could think about, both then and now, was protecting his brother. "Don't regret any of it."

"Shit, Jax, " Opie said finally, reaching a hand up to grip the one on his shoulder. "You're insane."

Jax grinned. "You know it."

"My turn to drive now?" Opie asked.

"Don't see anything good to eat here," Jax shrugged, the earlier events not quite forgotten or ignored, more pushed to the back of their shared memories. He stood and offered Opie a hand up.

"Asshole," Opie said as he accepted the hand, gripping fractionally tighter than he would have usually, holding on for a second longer than necessary. He smiled and shook his head, following Jax back onto the bike. 

He twisted his arms around his friend and held on as Jax revved the engine. Leaning forward, Opie raised his voice to be heard over the roar. 

"One of these days, Jackson Teller, you're gonna be the death of me."


End file.
